


Peaceful Slut, Tortured Soul

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bull Whip, Degradation, Dom!Alastair, Hell sex, Humiliation, Kinktober, Kinktober 2017, Knife Play, M/M, Masochism, Master/Slave, Pain Slut!Dean, Sadism, Sub!Dean, Top!Alastair, bottom!Dean, consensual torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 04:52:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12335844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: Dean and Alastair unwind after a day of torturing souls





	Peaceful Slut, Tortured Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my fill for the Sadism/Masochism prompt of Kinktober Day 11!! I had a lot of fun writing something like this. 
> 
> Special thanks to my beta @samslashdeantogether

The knife sliced into Dean’s skin once more and he hissed in pain, clenching his hands into fists as his cock throbbed. 

“Such a little painslut for me,” Alastair crooned in his ear, admiring the way the blood slid lazily down Dean’s golden skin. “Do you want another?” 

“Master, please,” Dean whispered, tilting his neck back to look up into Alastair’s pale eyes. 

The verdant gaze that excited Alastair almost as much as torturing his little slut made the demon smile. “Such a polite little slut,” he cooed. “I love how much you enjoy this.” With that, he carved another line into Dean’s chest, his own cock throbbing at the sound of Dean’s screams of mild pain and absolute pleasure echoing in his ears. 

Dean was sobbing, tears streaming down his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to end the scene. He loved this too much, loved how the pain made him soar and forget that he was in Hell, that he was now Alastair’s right hand bitch, that he shared a bed with the demon night after night since he picked up his razor. And Alastair knew what kind of pain made Dean feel good. 

“So pretty when you cry, Dean,” Alastair whispered softly, kissing a trail of hot kisses down Dean’s neck. “Such a pretty little slut on my table, crying out for my knife and my cock.”    
Dean wept and leaned into Alastair’s touch, feeling the demon’s hands trace over each and every cut. “Master, please,” he whined. 

“Use your words, Dean,” Alastair murmured. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.” 

Dean moaned brokenly, his back arching up into Alastair’s calloused palms. His cock leaked. “Master, please, want you,” he whimpered. 

“Want me to do what?” Alastair asked softly. “Fuck you like the little bitch you are? Make you feel more pain? What?” 

Dean hated this game, in all honesty. Floating on his pained cloud, wanting more and being unable to articulate it and Alastair refusing to do  _ anything  _ until he said what he wanted was the sweetest torture. He knew what he wanted, but getting his body to work and vocalize his desire was proving to be difficult, as usual. 

Alastair gave a low chuckle that sent shivers down Dean’s spine. “Make up your mind, my pretty little whore,” he murmured in a low voice, “Or I’ll make it up for you.” 

Dean whined and took a deep breath, attempting to center himself. “Please, Master,” he whispered, his lips feeling chapped, “please whip me.” 

Alastair licked his lips, smirking down at Dean. “You want to be whipped, boy?” he whispered. 

“Yes, Master, please,” Dean begged. 

“Such a good little slut,” Alastair praised. Dean couldn’t help but preen from it. “Roll over.” 

Dean did so, rolling over on the table so he was face down against the table. He turned his head to the side to regard Alastair. 

“Good,” Alastair murmured. “Raise that ass, slut. Show me how much you want it.” 

Dean whimpered and raised his ass, tucking his knees under his hips and spreading them wide. 

“Fucking hungry for it, aren’t you slut?” Alastair cooed. He gave Dean’s upturned rear a firm slap, making Dean whine. “Gonna make you cry, Dean, are you ready for that?” 

Dean nodded. “Yes, Master, please,” he whispered. He watched as Alastair’s thin hand curled around his favorite single tailed whip, and he whimpered, feeling his cock throb against his thigh. 

“Gonna give you thirty,” Alastair murmured, “And then I’m going to fuck you wide open.” 

“Yes, Master,” Dean replied. 

“Good,” Alastair whispered. 

The whip cracked, landing on the fullest curve of Dean’s ass and he cried out, his back arching and throwing his head back as Alastair unleashed the whip again and again, feeling the thin rope land again and again on his tender flesh. 

By the time the thirtieth lash came, Dean was a sobbing mess, tears streaming down his face as he heard the whip clatter to the floor. 

Alastair climbed up behind Dean, wrapping himself around the other man’s body as the demon pressed into Dean’s open, gaping hole, a little wet from that morning’s activities. 

Dean screamed, digging his nails the best he could into the cold metal of the table he was on. “Master, please,” he begged brokenly. 

Alastair didn’t answer directly, just began pounding into Dean as he kept the submissive pinned underneath of him, smirking at the tears. “Such a pretty little slut that’s crying,” he whispered after a time. “Gonna make you feel this for days, my little whore. Who’s are you?” 

“Yours, Master,” Dean whined, coughing. 

“Good boy,” Alastair praised. “You’ve done such a good job for me today, you little painslut.” 

Every slam of Alastair’s bony hips into Dean’s ass reinforced the stinging pain of the whip and the abrupt penetration, making him sob louder, clenching down on the demon’s cock as he felt it swell more. He was in so much pain, so much pleasure, he was so close. . .

“Cum for me, Dean,” Alastair whispered. “Take your reward.” 

Dean came screaming and sobbing as he painted the table white, Alastair following behind with a grunt. Dean’s ass felt hot to the touch, even moreso now with Alastair’s release slowly oozing out. 

Alastair withdrew slowly, relishing in Dean’s tiny whimpers, before walking over and seeing the glazed over eyes of his progeny. “Good,” he praised simply before standing upright and hauling Dean to his feet. “Dean?” 

“Master,” Dean hummed happily, sagging into Alastair. 

Alastair easily lifted the larger man over his shoulder, recognizing that his student wouldn’t be able to walk back to their quarters, and began walking. 

The cuts would heal overnight- cuts didn’t last long in Hell. The welts and impressions from the whip, however, would remain for quite a while, meaning that Dean was going to be in delicious, agonizing pain every time he walked, bent over, or even when Alastair took advantage of Dean, a token of their experience. 

“Slut,” Alastair said almost affectionately when they arrived at their bed for the night. 

Dean yawned and stretched, motioning for Alastair to put him down. 

Alastair did so, and Dean slid right onto their bed, face down, pressing his handsome visage into the pillow. The welts were fresh, a couple having split open and were being exposed. 

“Good,” Alastair murmured, crawling in beside Dean. 

When Dean picked up his razor just two Earth months ago, Alastair never expected to tumble into a warped relationship of sorts with him. Now, however, he couldn’t imagine it any other way. 

Especially because he knew once Dean was raised from Hell in accordance to the prophecy, the memories of what they did in the dark would torment him more than any physical instrument could. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


End file.
